Temperate Hells

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Temperate Hells

Sonnet — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #16

How sweetly settled were the years of lack,
A mind with shuttered windows and doors,
A belly that tackled all hungers with knack
And the bitter aftertaste of heart’s loss.

All was known woe in that long night,
Misfortune’s hand that never let go,
Of sorrow life was seldom bereft,
As predictable as past every tomorrow.

And then Thou didst arrive O Wizard White,
Tainting dreams with dawns that could be,
Sullied my black skies with celestial light,
Burned Thy seal in all I could think or see.

O I suffer, suffer the ravenous blaze of Thy proximity,
And declare all hells as temperate besides Thee!!